


Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #2

by professorplum221



Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [2]
Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27901261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorplum221/pseuds/professorplum221
Summary: Archival documents relating to the relationship between Commissar Ciaphas Cain and his personal aide, shortly after their defense of the planet Adumbria
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Ciaphas Cain/Amberley Vail, Ciaphas Cain/Ferik Jurgen
Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043088
Kudos: 10





	Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #2

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone else is like me and looking up fanfiction for these books while still in the middle of reading them, warning that there are some references to specific major events of the third book near the beginning and in the first footnote! Nothing past that, since I'm still only partway through the fourth book myself.
> 
> Also I'm very glad there are a few other people writing stuff for this series on here, reading that inspired me to write more too. :)

_ Archival note: The following is another previously uncatalogued document apparently belonging to Inquisitor Amberley Vail and relating to the memoirs of Commissar Ciaphas Cain. Unlike the previous selection, this is evidently one of many written by Commissar Cain himself. There are moments throughout it in which he appears to be addressing a specific subject, possibly Inquisitor Vail—but any context that would clarify whether it was a letter directly addressed to said subject or merely something he wrote with another person in mind appears to be missing. Inquisitor Vail has apparently annotated the document, which could indicate that she had at one point considered including it among the narratives of Cain's life that have been more widely disseminated among the Inquisition—however, that could also simply be her typical approach to any text she happens to read. Personally, as an archivist, I can certainly imagine the latter. _

_ \- Underscribe P. Plumb, 136.M42 _

* * *

"Are you alright, Commissar?"

I woke with a start to see the familiar backlit silhouette of Jurgen in my bedroom doorway, and realized that I must have cried out in my sleep again.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," I replied with habitual dishonesty that he of course knew me well enough at this point to see for what it was.

"The nightmares haven't gotten worse again, have they?"

"I'm not sure I would go  _ that _ far," I said, suppressing a shudder at the memory of the recently dispatched demon that had found amusement in assaulting my mind from the warp before her demise [1], "but they certainly haven't gotten much  _ better _ ."

"Is there anything I can do to help, sir? I could put on a pot of tea if you'd like."

"No, it's alright. Thank you, Jurgen. Well—actually." I reconsidered his offer as my eyes finally adjusted enough to the dim light to be able to make out the concern on his face. "Jurgen, why don't you just—stay here?"

"Stay here, sir?"

"Yes—here." I shifted toward one side of my bed to make room for him, as he continued to gaze at me with some apparent confusion. I smiled in an attempt to diffuse some of the sudden tension of the situation. "I won't have to worry about any attacks from the warp with you right next to me, will I?"

"Oh. I see. Very good, sir." He finally moved from his position in the doorway and approached the bed, but with a hint of disappointment in his voice that made me realize he must have taken my previous comment extremely seriously, believing that his unique abilities [2] were genuinely the only reason I would request his presence.

"Jurgen," I began as he perched stiffly on the edge of the bed, my mind far too addled from lack of sleep to have any idea how I was going to dispel this apparent notion about the limits of his appeal as a bedfellow, "What I really mean is—I do want you to stay, not just because—I—"

And for lack of suitably eloquent words, I gave up and instead found myself kissing him.

As I believe you may already be aware, this wasn't the first time Jurgen and I had been physically intimate, but at that point it had been quite a while—possibly years—since our most recent encounter of this nature. I'm sure you understand that I loved him very dearly, but not in a way that always necessarily translated into sexual attraction. Throughout much of our time together, I had the good fortune to be rather occupied by various other prospects with whom I was more compatible—and, despite his stubborn refusal to conform to any civilized planet's standards of beauty or hygiene, I do suspect the same was occasionally true for Jurgen as well. Our relationship was, much more often than not, one of close colleagues and friends, without any extra complications. But occasionally, there were moments like this one—when looking at him filled me with such overwhelming gratitude for everything he had done for me that this seemed to be the most natural and comfortable way to express it.

He seemed comfortable as well, once I gave him a moment to breathe, his earlier downcast expression having transformed into a bright smile.

"Oh! I understand, sir," he said. " _ That _ will help, then, will it?"

"I imagine so," I agreed. "As long as you're . . . willing."

"Of course, sir."

He sunk down onto the bed next to me, and I made short work of relieving him of the perpetually dishevelled uniform he had been sleeping in, being extremely familiar by that point with the locations of its many decorative buttons [3]. He was slower and comparatively clumsier at getting me out of my own more traditional sleepwear, but the resulting lingering of his fingers against my skin was quite pleasant, and by the time he had managed the task we were both clearly eager for more.

In situations like this, Jurgen always remained as gentle, caring, and attentive as always—unfortunately, almost to his detriment. The problem was that he always seemed to be somewhat anxious to avoid accidentally hurting me, no matter how many times I attempted to convince him that I certainly wouldn't mind it if he did. I expect that it was the nature of our professional relationship that made it especially difficult for him to let go of some level of caution, which I could sometimes find a bit frustrating.

Nevertheless, there was one major benefit to Jurgen's apparent inability to discard the habits of professionalism, which was that no matter the circumstances, he never stopped calling me "sir." You may have known me to prefer being on the other side of that sort of power dynamic behind closed doors [4], but with him, I won't deny that I took some not insignificant thrill from that manner of address in this context as well. On this particular occasion, hearing him breathe the words, "I'm getting close, sir," was all I needed to bring me into a similar state, my fingers digging into his back as the same jolt of pleasure seemed to hit us both a moment later.

Evidently, I had grasped at his back with a bit too much wild abandon, because one of the first things that Jurgen said to me afterward was, "Careful with the augmetic fingers, sir," twisting his shoulder to show off the harsh red mark I had inadvertently left behind. "They're a bit stronger than you think."

"Ah. My sincerest apologies," I responded, a smile dancing at the corner of my lips. "Perhaps we can find some manner of getting my hands out of the way next time."

Jurgen nodded seriously. "I'm sure we'll think of something, sir."

With a chuckle at his perpetual inability to pick up on any indirect suggestions, I slipped out of bed and made my way toward the bathroom with the intention of freshening up somewhat before returning to sleep. However, Jurgen's voice stopped me before I had quite reached it.

"Sir?"

I turned around. "Yes?"

"Did you still want me to stay the night?"

"Of course, Jurgen. Why wouldn't I?"

Despite the dim lighting, I think I caught a hint of a blush crossing his face. "Just checking, sir."

I almost regretted my response when I returned from the bathroom only moments later to find him somehow already asleep, sprawled out in an unlikely position that took up almost all of the space on my bed and consigned me to what amounted to a cramped corner of it. Yet despite that inconvenience, I have to admit that I think I slept better that night than I had since long before our regiment landed on Adumbria.

* * *

_ Inquisitor Vail's Footnotes: _

_ [1] Cain seems to be referring to his experiences during the 597th Valhallan's altercation with the forces of Chaos on the planet Adumbria. As he explains elsewhere in this archive, Jurgen had taken to sleeping in the next room out of concern for Cain's health, as at the time the commissar was plagued by nightmares that turned out to be demonic in origin. As this recollection appears to fit into the period shortly after Cain's famous defeat of the offending demon on a mineral trawler in the Adumbrian sea, any residual difficulty he had sleeping was likely only psychological in origin. _

_ [2] Cain is of course referring here to Jurgen's rare inherent ability to nullify psychic and warp-related phenomena with nothing but his proximity to the would-be attackers and/or victims. _

_ [3] Considering how infrequent he claims that these encounters with his personal aide were, this comment about his familiarity with the uniform seems to imply some additional—perhaps more regular—liaisons with at least one other member of the Imperial Guard. Such a relationship would of course raise some questions about decorum, given his authority as a commissar—although perhaps the same could be said about Jurgen, as much as he's always seemed to be a special case regarding any regulations that would usually apply. As to the identity of this other implied partner, Cain's memoirs seem not to provide any specific clues thus far. _

_ [4] If anything, this is an understatement. I always suspected that the immense pressures of his career as a commissar may have contributed to Cain's regular enthusiasm for relinquishing all authority in the bedroom—a predilection which suited me perfectly, but also evidently not the only side of his varied tastes. _


End file.
